Probe Zero
by Diego Zeyon
Summary: Another story dealing with the design of the EVE probe model. I really have nothing more to say on that. This may or may not evolve, depending on how people react... If you want to see it continued, I'll continue it...


And so I enter into the mêlée of conflicting stories regarding the origin of the EVE and WALL●E 'droid models (though this story focuses, more specifically, on the end of EVE's design process)

Footnotes will be designated by parenthesized Arabic numerals following a word (ie, "...as we discussed on the veefone (2)"), and will be used anywhere I feel that an in-text explanation would detract from the story; instead they will be defined as part of the ending author's note.

Shelby Forthright, EVE, and all related official material are copyright to Disney/Pixar. Aydan Forester (pronounced like "Hayden," without the "H.") Evelyn Forester, the Reorganzation of 2075, the ion-type MagnoPanels, and VIP, the "original" name of the EVE probe (and anything else that doesn't belong to anyone else) _are _mine.

Also note that I'm not a real science buff. I don't know if you can actually, practically, create "pseudo-magnetism" with ions as I've described in the story. Don't get worked up about it; heck, this takes place in the future--maybe I'm right but we just don't know it yet.

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Probe Zero

The planet was called Earth, though as the years went on, one would recieve the impression that a better name for the dying dust ball would be Trash. Indeed, it was a miracle the planet was still inhabited by the year 2102, and people knew that it would be a miracle if they managed to last another ten years.

In fact it was this that plagued the world's most important man, Shelby Forthright, CEO of the Buy'n'Large Corporation, and, as of the Reorganization of 2075 (1) and his succession to his father's place after his death, President of the world. As his limousine drove along the increasingly grimy roads in the state known as Michigan in what had once been the United States of America, Forthright was buried inside himself, and it was just as well, for there was nothing good to see out the window.

"We'll be arriving shortly, Mr. President," said the chauffeur. Forthright looked up, nodded, and looked back down.

"Sir?" said one of the security men in the seat in front of him.

"I'm fine," insisted Forthright shortly. The man nodded and leaned back.

The building that the limo pulled up to was deceptively small. It had the same dirty, uncared-for look that the rest of the buildings in every major city in the world had, though it was obvious that there were still those who cared how the building looked. It was still _dirty,_ but it managed to radiate the fact that someone had rubbed it raw trying to get it clean.

Upon it, in gigantic plastic letters that reflected the harsh sunlight directly into Forthright's eyes, were the words _Buy'N'Large Supply Center._ It looked no bigger than a small-scale grocery store, but of course most of it was underground.

"We're here, sir," said one of the security men, opening Forthright's door. The President got out.

"Smith, Lucas, you're with me," said Forthright, still a little gruff. "The rest of you, by no means are you to go beyond the elevator doors."

"Yes, sir," chorused the contingent of security men. Two of them, obviously Smith and Lucas, stood forward for a moment, and then repositioned themselves expertly behind Forthright's shoulders, out of his sight but very much in view to everyone else.

Without really waiting for them, Forthright began walking toward the building, straightening his face as he did so. There was no call for him to look dour in front of the public--even if this was a very selective "public."

The door opened automatically as he neared. Forthright did not so much as slow. Behind him, they slid shut again. The air inside the building felt as though it belonged to another world--filtered, fresh, and cool. The floor was blue tile, and the walls and cieling were unspoiled white. There was a receptionist at the desk to the left, who stood as soon as she realized that the President had entered, as well as a young man standing by the elevator doors in the back, who began to move toward him the instant Forthright realized he was there.

Forthright took a look at his face. Hazel eyes, brown hair. Glasses. Yes, this was the one whom he had spoken to about the VIP project--apparetly the head of the department, though he looked to be, at oldest, thirty. What was his name? Forthright frowned slightly when the name refused to come. He stuck out his hand anyway.

"An honor, Mr. President, sir," said the man, shaking it somewhat warily.

"Oh, now, none of that," said Forthright, putting on the smile that used-car salesmen and politicians are both famous for. "I told you, formalities really bug the heck outta me."

"Ah... I'm sorry, Mr. Forthright," said the man. "Shall we?" he added, after a moment.

Forthright nodded, cast a glance at the rest of the security men, who nodded themselves and spread comfortably about the room.

The four men, including Smith and Lucas (who were looking rather smug), entered the elevator. Forthright promptly forgot they were there.

"You'll have to forgive me," he said. "Running the world and keeping all these ideas straight and secret... Gets to a guy, you know?"

"Of course," responded the other.

"Er... I'm afraid I've forgotten your name."

"Ah?" It wasn't a question so much as a short, surprised noise. "Um... Aydan Forester, sir," he said, sounding only slightly hurt.

"Forester. Forester!" Forthright repeated, trying to impress the name upon his memory. "I should remember that, huh? You're in charge of the VIP project, right? Oughta remember..." The VIP. The Very Important Probe. The one that would save humanity.

"No problem, sir," said Aydan, with the air of one agreeing to save his own skin.

"So... It's as we discussed over the veefone (2) then? Prototype's ready?"

"Very nearly, sir."

"Very nearly," echoed Forthright slowly. "I have three years, Mr. Forester, until the cruise fleet is launched. _Three years._ How long have you been working on this project?"

"Er... a year and a half, sir, since the former Director..."

"No, no, I mean, how long has this project been going?"

"About five years, sir."

"And you're still working on the prototype?" The happy politician image began to crack. "I have twenty ships, Mr. Forester, and each ship needs at least five of these probes. That's one hundred probes I need in _three years,_ and you've spent _longer_ on the prototype!"

"Um... If I may, sir," said Aydan after a moment. "If you'll remember, it _is _still the prototype. The mass manufacture should be easy once we get the design right, but until we fix all the bugs, all the wiring, all of the ionic magnets, they all have to be installed by hand."

Forthright nodded finally, still somewhat put out. "Still. Five years?"

"Ionic magnets are very hard to work with, sir. At least... to the degree that we're using them. Uniform hoverchairs meant to go over a flat surface are one thing, sir, but this is something on an entirely different scale."

The elevator opened. The four men walked out into a blue hallway lit by indirect--and apparently sourceless--lighting. There were other people crowding the hallway, all wearing labcoats (3), who stood out of the way as Forthright approached. He paid no attention, following Forester unconsciously and thinking quickly to himself. After a moment, he resumed the conversation.

"I don't quite see how difficult automatic recalibration should be..."

"Er... Quite difficult, sir, especially with the limbs and head, because ionic magnets only affect one another if they're spinning in opposite directions."

"What?" said Forthright, Lucas, and Smith simultaneously, very nearly in harmony.

Aydan Forester hesitated.

"Never mind, never mind," said Forthright, who was a very practical person. He didn't care how things worked, as long as they worked (4). "The point is, you're almost finished."

"Yes, sir," Aydan agreed, catching onto the new chain of conversation and hanging on for dear life. "That's why we called you here, sir. There are only a few, minor things left to do, but we figured we would get your approval before finalizing the thing."

Forester paused, passed a card key across a black patch in the wall, and a door that had previously blended perfectly with the wall slid open without a sound. He gestured for Forthright to enter; he did so, Smith and Lucas behind him.

The room was largely bare, with the same dark-blue ambiance that the hallway had. The walls were white and, aside from several wall-mounted computer monitors on either side, bare.

In the center of the room sat a gigantic egg, not quite as tall as Forthright himself, pointed end down, with a black spot upon its otherwise perfectly smooth, white body. Forthright took a closer look, and realized that it wasn't actually touching the ground.

"The VIP," announced Aydan Forester.

Shelby Forthright had never seen the plans for the probe; to him, it was a mystery, a great unknown, as it were, that would end up saving his race. But...

"An egg," he said shortly. "I thought you mentioned a head, and limbs?"

"Probe Zero, exit standby," said Aydan.

"Oh," said Forthright very quietly. Smith and Lucas looked over their sunglasses. And there was good reason for this.

The probe, on Forester's command, had floated another six inches off of the floor. Blue eyeforms appeared on the visor, seeming to blink once, and then its head and body, as well as its arms, all ...seperated. They floated close to each other, but did not seem to be actively attracting or rejecting.

"Movement Test One," said Aydan.

The probe stuck its arms--fins?--out to either side and rotated, slowly.

"Stop," said Aydan. The VIP ceased its motion and relaxed its fins. "Arm ion cannon."

The probe's right fin rotated, and seemed to expand. The fin stopped, suddenly much wider and black, and made a motion akin to taking the safety off of a gun. There was a high-pitched droning in the air, and the probe's eyeforms had changed--where before they had been perfect circles, now they reminded Forthright of half-moon glasses, not so much angry as impassivley threatening.

Smith cleared his throat dangerously.

"Off ion cannon," said Forester. The probe spun the fin the other way, and when it stopped, there was no trace that there had ever been anything but the slim, perfectly-aerodynamic fin there.

"How did you fit...?" breathed Lucas.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

Forester walked over to one of the monitors in the wall and tapped a command.

"This will simulate a general diagnostic, using _Axiom_ code," he explained. "Commence program."

There was a pause.

_Be-be-beep._

The probe raised its right fin and placed it over its right eyeform.

_Beep, beep, beep._

It did the same with its left.

_Beep, be-beep._

The probe stuck the fin out perpendicular--more or less--to its body and armed the cannon. Aydan gently tugged it away.

"Cease program," he said, and placed the cannon back near the probe's "shoulder joint." "Off ion canon."

"Those are ionic magnets?" asked Forthright quietly.

"_Rotating_ ionic magnets, sir. Though they're more like panels here, so we call them MagnoPanels."

"How...?"

"If you'll look, sir," Aydan responded, tilting the VIP's head back. There were what looked at first to be squares of light rotating just under the surface, layer upon layer of them. Forthright came closer, and noticed that there was a ring around the probe's body's collar, around which a light _was _rotating. He looked at the place on the droid that could only be called a shoulder joint, and saw the same series of rotating light squares in miniature.

Forthright stepped back, chin in his hand.

"This is ingenious. Who came up with the design?"

"Evelyn Forester, sir. My sister."

Forthright considered for a moment. Then he said, "This thing's too graceful to be an 'it.'"

"Sir?" said Forester.

"This. The VIP. It needs a different designation... It's too graceful to be thought of as all robotic. I think it needs to be a she."

"How about... EVE, sir? After my sister?"

"EVE?"

"Earth Vegetation Evaluator?"

"Well, that gets right to the point doesn't it?" But something in all of this had stirred up his old salesman instincts. Forthright stepped forward. "No, no, not Earth. That's boring, that won't sell."

"Sell, sir?"

Forthright didn't hear him. "Extraterrestrial. That'll get people excited." He nodded. "That's it. VIP, shoot, it _is _very important. But EVE..."

The probe stared back at him impassively.

"Get it a vocabulator that sounds vaguely female and redesignate it EVE--the Extraterrestrial Vegetation Evaluator," decided Forthright.

"Yes, sir."

"And you've definitely got my approval. In fact, I want this one designated Probe One and placed aboared the _Axiom._" Forthright turned to leaveve. Lucas and Smith slipped behind him invisibly, and once again he forgot they were there. "One thing more, Mr. Forester..."

"Sir?"

"Before you place it... _her,_ on the Axiom, wipe her memory."

"Sir?" said Forester again.

"That way she can't boast she's met the President, can she?" joked Forthright.

"Ah... Yes, sir."

"I'll see myself to the elevator then, shall I?" said Forthright, and without waiting for a response he, Lucas, and Smith left.

"But sir--" said Aydan, suddenly remembering something. But the President was gone.

Aydan Forester looked at the probe for a long while. She looked back blankly.

"No emotion yet, either," muttered Aydan to himself. "Maybe the basic personality matrix was a bad idea. Can't get it to work right. We'll take it out of later models..."

Still muttering, he left as well. As the door shut, the lights and computer monitors all shut off. The only light came from the eyeforms of the newly redesignated Extraterrestrial Vegetation Evaluator, Axiom Class, Probe 01.

Probe 01 stared at the door that Forester had left by. She stared for a long time, trying to figure something out, only she didn't know what it was. After a time she went into standby again, and the room was dark.

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1: Reorganization of 2075 - a monumental political event wherein all the countries of the world unified under Buy'N'Large, effectively making the corporation the government.

2: Veefone - short for "Video Telephone."

3: This is always the case, in any _real_ laboratory.

4: In other words, made good money.


End file.
